Sometimes
by actressisme
Summary: Sometimes, he could see her. Just there, down the hallway, right out of the corner of his eye. The flash of honey blonde hair, the heel of her trainers, the trim of her jeans. It was so real, he could almost believe it. 10/Rose. Post-Doomsday. OneShot.


**Title: **Sometimes**  
Characters: **Ten, Rose  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own 'Doctor Who', I am not RTD, and that is that.**  
Warnings:** This is my very first fanfiction ever, so be kind. And the spoilers are up to Doomsday. So ... if you haven't seen Doomsday, then don't read it.  
**Author Notes: **Post-Doomsday. Very much Post-Doomsday. Told from the Doctor's point of view. This was an odd idea that popped into my head and wouldn't go til I wrote it out. I may write more one shots if I get ideas, but this was really, _really_ super odd for me to write fanfiction so don't get too hopeful. Not that anyone will ever read this, but okay.

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Sometimes, he could taste her. While he was making his cuppa tea, and he first sipped it's hot contents there would be that all too familiar taste on the tip of his tongue. Her strawberry lipgloss still clung to the ceramic cup, causing him to almost drop the steaming contents on the floor. Other times it would be while he was enjoying his simple meal, and he'd taste it. Rosemary. She hardly ever used it, and he only did with the spare dish here and there, but there it was, plain as day. He'd catch his fork right before it hit the plate, and he'd go on with his meal, trying hard not to let too many memories flood his mind. Sometimes it would just be the little reminder of chips. Those fried things that she couldn't get enough of. He couldn't remember how many bloody times he had to make a special trip just to get her an order of fried potatoes smothered in salt and oil. His head would search for her at the vendors, just to make sure she had enough money to get him an order, too. She was never there.

Sometimes, he could see her. Just there, down the hallway, right out of the corner of his eye. The flash of honey blonde hair, the heel of her trainers, the trim of her jeans. It was so real, he could almost believe it. Then, just as he turned to go after her, it'd be gone. The hallway would be empty. Her room still unoccupied. The kitchen bare, and the console room quiet. His hearts would clutch everytime, and he told himself that she was not there. She was never there. She never would be, either. He had to accept it. It would drive him to the brink of insanity if he didn't. He had to move on, and he had to face the facts. She was gone from him, and he could never get her back. Still, his breath hitched when he thought he saw her yet again, this time in the bathroom. His hand would shoot out and creak open the door, fully preparing her to be standing there, brushing her teeth, getting ready for another adventure. Air was his only greeting.

Sometimes, he could hear her. The faint, almost undetectable giggle. It would attack him as he woke, and caused him to smile. Sitting up, he'd pretend for just a moment she was there, in his doorframe, laughing at him for sleeping so late. His eyes would eagerly search for her, to find that he was alone. Again. He'd go on with his day, and enjoy the silence til he heard it again. This time it wasn't her laugh, but her frustrated scoff. The one she'd make when she got lost in the TARDIS yet again, even though she'd been there for so many years. The one she'd use when she wanted another adventure, and would just end up sitting on the bench by the console, waiting for him to finish tinkering on his beloved ship. The scoff would make a bemused grin appear, and his breath would still as he waited to hear her angry footsteps come pound through on the grating, her demands for fresh air breaking the simple mood. It would never come.

Sometimes, he could smell her. He'd be passing a spice kiosk, and the familiar scent of vanilla would reach him. She had loved the perfume he had gotten her such a long time ago. She had loved it, and he could still see her beaming smile in his mind. Or he'd get a whiff of frying oil, and be taken back to her and her undying love of fried chips. His hand would reach instinctively into his pockets, trying to find some sort of money to feed her addiction until he was sharply reminded that she wasn't there to enjoy them. The one smell that could always tear at his hearts was the scent of her name. He'd never really gone out of his way to visit a garden, but now he avoided them like the plague. None of his other companions ever understood why the color would drain from his face when he'd pass a rose garden, and he never once spoke about it. The pain was too much sometimes. It was just another cruel trick the universe played on him, making him think she would appear in a bush of the flower that had the honor of sharing it's name with her. She never appeared.

Sometimes, he could feel her. He'd feel her fingers intertwine with his as he ran. His head would whip around to reassure her with his eyes that they would be alright. He wouldn't find a soul behind him. He could feel her poke him with her toe as he fiddled under the console. A subtle reminder that she was there, and that she was bored. Smiling, he'd poke his head from out under the grating to ask if she needed something. His grin would fade away as he was met with empty spaces. He could feel her hand on his shoulder as he kneeled next to a fallen victim. Her reminder to him that it was all going to be okay. That is wasn't his fault, and that no one blamed him. His own hand would reach up to grab hers, but all his hand met was his shoulder, and his hearts would break a little bit more. Other times, he'd feel her pass by him in the kitchen. Her leg would brush against his as they sat at the table. His eyes would look up to coyly tell her to get her own space and leave his alone, but his eyes found nothing in front of him. At night, while he stared at the ceiling, trying so hard not to succumb to the nightmares he knew would plague his sleep, he'd feel the side next to him rustle, just as though she was lying next to him like she would always do after a particularly difficult day. A soft smile appeared as he felt her press a feather soft kiss to his forehead. And, for a moment, she was there.


End file.
